


festival of lights

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Celebrations, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets featuring Erik celebrating Hanukkah in various verses.<br/><strong>Chapter One:</strong> When they need to cancel their plans to fly home to New York for the holidays, Charles tries to make it up to Erik.<br/><strong>Chapter Two:</strong> (Old Retired Dudes) Charles decides this winter they're going to celebrate everything.<br/><strong>Chapter Three:</strong> There's only one box of menorah candles left in the store. Single dads Charles and Erik both reach for it simultaneously.<br/><strong>Chapter Four:</strong> (college AU) Charles puts a new spin on the dreidel game.<br/><strong>Chapter Five:</strong> Kitty, Theresa, Erik, and Charles welcome a new member to their family Hanukkah ritual.<br/><strong>Chapter Six:</strong> Erik hasn't celebrated Hanukkah since his mother died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. five months down

**Author's Note:**

> My intent was to write a ficlet for each night of Hanukkah for the [Fandom Hanukkah Challenge 2014](), but on the sixth night, some family stuff blew up and I was unable to complete night seven and eight. Here are the first six, though!
> 
>  **Chapter One:** For **pearlo** \- Charles and Erik move to the middle of nowhere for Charles' first teaching job and Erik Doesn't Handle It Well. I wrote [a little thing](http://pocky-slash.livejournal.com/1718069.html) for Pearl that I posted on LJ, but there's no like...actual fic for this verse. This is what happens around Hanukkah in that verse.

When they left New York, Erik's mother tried to send them off with a box of Hanukkah things.

"We won't need that, ma," Erik insisted at the time. "Charles finishes up right at the start of Hanukkah and he's off for like, a month. We'll be home by then."

"If you're sure," Edie had said, but she was smiling already at the thought of seeing them again in just five short months. Erik, too, felt relief at the time. It was easier to think of their year long stay in two six month chunks.

That was July, unfortunately. In July, it all seemed grueling and frustrating and possible. Now, five months into their year long exile in Iowa, Erik is trying to force a comforting smile as Charles twists his napkins between his hands and says, "I just...someone really needs to be here to supervise the samples in order to get the data from this leg of the experiment and as I'm on the bottom of the totem pole, as it were...."

He trails off miserably. Erik feels his fake smile falter.

"Erik, I'm so sorry," Charles says. "You should go without me. You should just--you can spend some time in New York with your mum. You can see Raven and everyone--it would be good for you. I know how badly you've been missing it."

Erik wants to go. This trip has been all that's gotten him through the fall, especially the last few weeks, when even getting out of bed has been difficult. He could go, and see everyone and buy Charles ludicrously overindulgent presents to prove how much he misses him. It would be fine. It would be a relief. It would make the anxiety that weighs down his shoulders dissipate.

It would be awful without Charles.

"It's fine," Erik lies.

"It's not," Charles says. "I know it's not, Erik, I'm so sorry."

"I know," Erik says. "I know. What else can we do?"

They finish the rest of their dinner in silence, but Erik doesn't taste it at all.

*

Erik calls his mother and breaks the bad news to her. He can tell she's upset, but she still spends more of the call comforting him than vice versa. Two days later, a huge box arrives overnight from New York, stuffed with a menorah and candles, boxes of rugelach, a container of latkes that is still half-frozen, presents wrapped in dreidel paper, and all manner of other trinkets and reminders of the city. He unpacks it while waiting for Charles to get home from work and resists the urge to call his mother or the airline to un-cancel his ticket home. He texts Edie instead, simply, _Thanks, mom ♥_ , save he say something he regrets.

The hardest day is the one before the first night of Hanukkah, the day they were supposed to be headed to the airport. It's the first day of Erik's three week paid vacation and he doesn't get out of bed until well into the afternoon. It's out of character for him--he's always been an early riser. He can't summon the energy, though. The only thing that gets him out of bed at all is the knowledge that Charles will be home by four and he's working hard to put on a good face for Charles, or at least a less miserable one.

Dinner is quiet. Erik makes soup because it's easy and they don't talk much while they eat.

"Did you ever think..." Charles starts to say, but trails off. He looks up at Erik over their soup, frowning.

"What?" Erik asks.

"I just...worry," Charles says. "I know you're...I know it's a terrible situation, but you're so sad and it just makes me sad too."

"I'm sorry," Erik says, because he's not sure what else to say.

"I know, love," Charles says. "So am I."

*

In the morning, Charles wakes him before eight, shaking him awake and poking him until he sits up.

"Get up," he says. "Take a shower. Get dressed. I'm off today and we're going to go out."

Erik doesn't want to go out. Erik wants to stay in bed until spring.

_You can't stay in bed until spring,_ Charles tells him. _Wake up. Let's spend some time together._

Erik gets up grudgingly and showers grudgingly and piles on sweaters grudgingly and makes oatmeal grudgingly. He grudgingly follows Charles out to the car, where Charles gets behind the wheel, pulls out of the driveway, and points the car in the opposite direction from town.

"Where are we going?" Erik finally asks, when he can't hold out any longer and Charles' radiated smugness is too much for him.

"It's a surprise," Charles tells him, and plugs his iPod into the radio so they can listen to anything other than Christmas music.

They drive for over an hour before Charles pulls into a town that's larger than two blocks in either directions and then parks in a handicapped spot in front of a small museum. He's still aggressively cheerful once they're situated on the sidewalk, humming under his breath as he rolls himself towards the entrance. Erik is just as determined to remain stony as Charles is cheerful right up until the door opens and he sees the interior.

"Oh my god," he says, staring at the metal sculpture that greets them. It's by one of his favorite artists--ultra modern and abstract and all rendered in iron and steel. Erik loves his work, can feel every nuance of every piece. He never really understood art, not really, until his mother took him to an exhibit featuring some of these sculptures at the MoMA. And then, when the traveling exhibition reached the MFA in Boston a few years later, he took Charles there on--

"This was our second date," Charles says, smiling brightly and reaching over to take Erik's hand. "I was bored out of my skull by the art, but I spent all night watching your face and listening to you talk and that alone was worth the price of admission."

Erik glances down at him, still thunderstruck.

"How did you...." he starts to ask, but he's not sure how to answer it. He has no idea what sort of trickery had to be done to get them and this exhibit here at the same time.

"Turns out he did some sort of artist's residency here," Charles says. "They have several of his works on display. I thought it might lift your spirits."

And that's not all Charles has planned. Once they're done with the museum and lunch at a nearby cafe, it's back into the car, where they drive a few miles outside of town to the artists' residence in question. There's a studio attached that offers classes to the public on some afternoons. Today just happens to be one of them, and they sit together in the back of the studio and work together to make tiny faux-stained glass lanterns in the style of the artist who's currently working there. While their creations are firing and drying, they get back in the car and drive thirty minutes east to a public library hosting a mutant speaker whose new book is on both their to-read lists. They stay late to chat with him about genetics and politics and New York, and manage to make it back to the studio just before closing to retrieve their tiny lamps as the sun begins to sink in the sky.

"Do you want to get dinner?" Erik asks. "Or do you have something planned for that, too?"

"We could," Charles allows. "But I had rather planned the day around us getting back in time to light the menorah around sunset."

In all the fun they'd had, Erik had nearly forgotten it was the first night of Hanukkah. He had definitely forgotten, or at least left behind, the despair that had been blanketing him when he thought of lighting the menorah alone.

Except, well. He won't be alone, will he? Charles will be there, too.

"Let's go home, then," Erik says.

The last surprise of the day is waiting for them at home, a Skype call with his mother and Raven, who's dropped in for a Hanukkah visit with her iPad. It's not quite as good as sitting next to her and reciting the prayers as they light the first candles together, but it's not as awful as it could be. Sure, they're stuck in the middle of nowhere for the foreseeable future, stranded far away from home, but there are still things to see and do, still connections to their family far away. They're still together, even if they don't have anyone else to rely on. They've survived five whole months--they're nearly halfway there and they haven't quit on each other yet. It's not exactly oil burning for eight days, but it's miraculous unto itself.

"Thank you," Erik says, once they've opened their presents (socks) for Edie and said their goodbyes. "I think I needed this."

"You did," Charles confirms. He leans in and kisses Erik gently, stroking his cheek when he pulls away. "Hang in there, darling. We may be able to survive this yet."

Call it a miracle, but for the first time in weeks, Erik actually believes him.


	2. second winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Retired Dudes: For their second winter in their little house, Charles decides they're going to celebrate all the holidays properly.

Erik's not sure if it's Charles' new medication routine or the solidity of a year together, proof that they can live together, keep this relationship afloat without the trappings of their positions, despite the rough edges of their differences. Either way, the second year winter in their little house, Charles drags Erik off towards the big box store near the college a few miles away. He makes Erik push a cart as he purchases new sweaters and socks (and Erik _will_ perfect turning a heel some day soon—he'd much rather Charles wear socks that Erik made for him) and a few electronics that Erik doesn't care to understand. When he's through with that, he leads Erik to the seasonal aisle and plants himself in front of the meagre display of Hanukkah decorations.

"Pick one," he says, gesturing to the hanukkiyahs for sale.

"Have you gone mad?" Erik asks conversationally.

"We're doing the holidays this year," Charles informs him. "Hank is sending the little tree I used to keep on my desk. I think the light and color will do us good—I think that's what made last winter so glum."

Erik thinks that a chemical imbalance in Charles' brain made last winter so glum, but he also finds he has no desire to argue with Charles.

"There's no need to celebrate Hanukkah on my behalf," he says. "It's a relatively minor holiday, you know, and I have no problem with you putting up a tree as long as it's not going to drag needles into my house." He wonders if this has anything to do with the High Holidays and Erik being dragged to a synagogue with Maris Littman's family for Yom Kippur. He had remarked, afterwards, that even though he no longer believes, the ritual of it was comforting.

"I know all that," Charles says. "I did used to run a school, you know—we made an effort to make sure every child was able to celebrate the holidays of their choosing. I read up quite a bit on various customs and religions, and if it's all the same to you, I quite like this one. Like I said, we need some light."

Erik thinks on that for a moment.

"Fine," he says, "but these are all laughably inferior. If we're going to do this, I'd rather make my own."

"Splendid!" Charles says, and rolls away from the hanukkiyahs and loads the basket up with two boxes of candles and some tree baubles instead. "Then let's check out and go home."

Erik is more than happy to do as he's told.

*

When the time comes, it ends up being no fuss at all.

They eat dinner as usual—Charles compliments Erik's cooking as he always does and cleans up as he always does. Instead of retiring to read or watch a movie, however, they return to the living room and pull out the menorah and candles.

The menorah is small and heavy, two colors of metal twisted together to form eight evenly spaced branches with a ninth slightly elevated. It's not ostentatious, but Erik is proud of it none the less, and smiles as Charles' hands close over it, warming up the metal and warming Erik as well. Charles places the first candle in its place and then hands Erik another candle for the shamash, which Erik lights as he begins to recite the proper prayers.

He stumbles over the Hebrew—it's been a long time since he said these words—but he muddles through, and in the end he places the shamash in its holder and leans back to watch the flames. The lights in the room are low and the warm light of the candles cast shadows on the wall. Charles is sitting next to him on the couch, warm and happy, and though Erik has library books that are due back soon and two days' worth of newspapers to read and a book of crossword puzzles he's been picking at, he feels no rush to move on to any of those things. He's quite comfortable where he is.

It's a little thing, a blip of a holiday in his youth that's only been brought to prominence to combat the commercial juggernaut that is Christmas, but Charles is right. Something about the candle light, saying words he hasn't recited since boyhood, thinking about faith and hope and miracles...something about it speaks to him in this moment. It’s not about indulging Charles or cultural expectations, it's about being here and knowing, on faith, that he'll be here tomorrow as well. He'll be here, in this little house, with Charles, for the next eight days and the eight beyond that and on and on until his time on the Earth passes.

It's a miracle of a different kind, given their years fighting. It's just as worth of celebration.

"I think," he says, as the candles burn low, "Perhaps tomorrow night I'll make latkes."

"That sounds lovely, darling," Charles replies, and takes Erik's hand between his own.

They stay that way until the candles burn out.


	3. last minute shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based on another of **allofthefeelings** ' [Hanukkah prompts](http://allofthefeelings.tumblr.com/post/104521356215/in-response-to-ameliaratings-point-that-holiday): "We both forgot to buy candles until the last minute and now there’s only one box left in the store."

David is sleeping, thank god, because between trying to navigate the packed Target aisles with the wheelchair _and_ a stroller _and_ fighting the hordes to get to every last item, the last thing he wants to do is try and soothe a crying infant.

He manages to find a corner quiet enough to pull out his phone and check off his list. He has wipes and toothpaste and a couple warm hats and some dreidel wrapping paper and some more baby food and everything else he needs. The only thing left is candles for the menorah, which are probably back by the (meager) Hanukkah display were he grabbed the paper on whim. David is too little to tell, but wrapping his gifts in anything else feels wrong, even if he won't remember.

He momentarily considers skipping the candles and just using whatever he has in the house--birthday candles, probably. David isn't even one--he's not going to remember this and he's not going to be able to tell if Charles is doing it right.

But Charles will know. And Gabby will know, somehow, just by looking at him, as if she's the telepath.

"Okay, darling, back to the front, please keep sleeping," he murmurs, and fights his way back towards the front of the store.

There's less of a crowd around the Hanukkah display, but that could just be because it's been picked nearly clean. He's not surprised--it's the first night of Hanukkah already and he imagines that most of the actual Jewish parents are prepared and probably halfway through their first night rituals.

"I'm sorry I'm pants at this," Charles says to his sleeping son as he scans the shelves. "Your mum needed to rush off and you're too little to go with her, yet."

He spots a box of candles--the lone remaining box--and grins. He reaches for it, and just as his hand closes around it, another hand closes around his.

"I'm terribly sorry, but--" Charles glances up at his competitor, and freezes.

It's not often he sees someone quite his attractive up close, not any more, at least.

"I'm sorry," the man says. He's holding a child, Charles realizes belated, a little girl who's maybe three. "I think that's the last box."

"I think you're right," Charles agrees. The man slowly lets go of his hand. Dammit.

"I swear I thought I had some left over from last year, but apparently not," the man says.

"I have an even better excuse," Charles says. He pauses long enough to entice and then says, "I'm Methodist."

It solicits the laugh Charles is going for, which he eggs on with a flirtatious smile. He is, perhaps, a little too invested in keeping this man's attention, but in his defense, it happens much less frequently these days than it did before the accident.

"Okay," the man says. "I'll bite. Why do you need menorah candles if you're not Jewish?"

Charles nods at the stroller. "My son is Jewish," he says. "His mum had a family emergency and needed to rush off, but David's had a cold and she didn't want to subject him to the flight, so she left him with me on the first night of Hanukkah. He's little, yet, and she said I didn't need to do anything, but..." He shrugs.

"That's very sweet of you," the man says. He smiles and Charles smiles back and thinks that his message was probably loud and clear--Charles is not married to David's mother. "My ex-wi--"

"Daaaaaddddddyyyyyy is it almost time for candles?" the little girl asks.

Charles' smile widens. That was definitely _ex-wife_.

The man rolls his eyes. "Soon, peanut," he says. "We've got to talk to the man about the candles first."

The girl looks down at Charles, disinterested, but perks up when she sees the stroller.

"Is that a baby?" she asks.

"It is," Charles tells her. "His name is David. What's your name?"

"Anya," the girl says.

"And I'm Erik," the man says. "And I didn't catch yours."

"Charles," Charles says. "Charles Xavier." He offers Erik his hand.

"Erik Lehnsherr," Erik says. They linger over the handshake for far too long.

"Daddy!" Anya whispers loudly.

"Shush," Erik murmurs. To Charles, he says. "As I was saying, normally my ex-wife and I do it together--we trade off the nights at each house and she starts, but her flight home from London got cancelled, so she's stuck there overnight."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Charles says. "Though that still doesn't solve the problem of the last box of candles."

Erik glances at the box and then back to Charles.

"Well," Erik says, "I'm pretty sure teaching a gentile how to have a proper Hanukkah celebration for his Jewish son is a mitzvah. So I think the obvious thing to do is for you to come home with us, and we'll all celebrate together."

Erik is trying to stay casual, Charles can tell, but his smile isn't as solid as it's been--he's nervous. It's rolling off of him, without even going into his mind.

He has no reason to be, of course.

"I think that sounds brilliant," Charles says. He picks up the box of candles and hands it to Erik, their fingers overlapping on the box for just a moment. "Lead on, Mr. Lehnsherr."

Gabby is never going to let him hear the end of this, but he really doesn't care.


	4. dreidel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU: Charles makes use of some of the Hanukkah things in Erik's care package with a game of his own devising.

Janos is climbing up the stairs when Charles jogs across the street to the Kappa Beta Epsilon house. He holds the door open and waves Charles inside.

"He's upstairs," Janos says. Janos looks like he hasn't slept in a week. He also looks just barely tolerant of Charles' chipper mood. It's clear not everyone is as confident going into finals week as Charles is.

"Thanks, Janos," Charles says, and offers what he hopes is a sympathetic smile as he dashes through the living room and up the stairs.

As promised, Erik is in his bedroom, sitting on his bed and unpacking a large cardboard box.

"Did you get a finals care package?" Charles asks, leaning against the doorframe. Erik shakes his head and then glances up, gesturing Charles over to the bed.

One day, Erik is going to gesture him over to the bed under different circumstances. Charles has to hold out hope.

For the time being, he flops onto Erik's mattress and peers into the box. It's not one of the pre-packaged care packages from the school, full of the stuff they sell in the bookstore. It takes Charles only a moment to place the contents.

"That's all Hanukkah stuff, right?" he asks.

"Yeah," Erik says. "It's pretty early this year, so I won't get home until after. It's not a big deal to me, but apparently it's a big deal to Mom." He pulls out a mesh bag of gold chocolate coins with a smile that's more affectionate than Erik normally lets himself be. Charles takes that as permission to rustle through the contents himself, pulling out a menorah and a bunch of small wrapped gifts. Erik lifts out a few Tupperware containers that Charles decides he will definitely have to peek inside, and then a handful of tiny plastic dreidels.

"Your mom is so great," Charles says.

Most people, he thinks, would probably blow the comment off, but not Erik. He smiles to himself and says, "Yeah, she is."

Erik gets off the bed and starts to put away the various components of the package, leaving the menorah and candles on the table next to his bed. Charles stretches out (enticingly, he hopes) and picks up the various things Erik's left behind—the bag of chocolate, which he puts back down once he's examined it, and then one of the dreidels.

"I know that you use dreidels to play a game because of the song, but I don't know that I'm familiar with what the game actually is," Charles says, spinning one awkwardly on the palm of his hand. Each side, he can see, has a Hebrew character printed on it, which he assumes has something to do with the game.

"Oh, it's stupid," Erik says. "Everyone puts a penny or a piece of gelt in the pot and you spin the dreidel and depending on what it lands on, you get some or all or none of it." Erik crosses back to the bed and takes the driedel out of Charles' outstretched hand. "It was fun for about ten minutes when we were kids, but it gets old fast."

Erik sits on the edge of the bed and the mattress dips. Charles slides down it, until his hip is pressed to Erik's.

"We should play," he says. Erik rolls his eyes.

"I just got through telling you it was stupid," he says. "Didn't you come over to study? "

"Neither of us have to study," Charles says dismissively. Erik will never admit that, of course. Erik studies constantly for everything, even though he's brilliant and comes back from every test complaining about how much time he's wasted studying for something so simple.

"Speak for yourself," Erik says. "Besides, it's boring with just two people."

Inspiration hits Charles like a flash of lightning. He can't stop a smiling from spreading across his face as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Like this, he and Erik are suddenly very, very close. He can tell Erik is as aware of it as he is.

"Then we'll make it interesting," Charles says, taking the driedel back. He's playing with fire here—there are rules about this.

The stupid rules. He doesn't know why he agreed to them. This whole thing with Erik is a mess—he understands that Erik is working through some sort of issues, that he's not ready for a relationship, that he's not comfortable dating. He just doesn't understand why Erik can't take two steps back and realize that they _are_ dating, even if he won't admit it. That people who do everything together and go everywhere together and tell secrets and kiss each other are dating, and that it's okay, and that nothing has to change.

But he can't. For whatever reason, this is Erik's line. They can kiss and grope sometimes, when Erik allows it, and they can spend time together and go out together, but they're not dating. Period.

Charles respects that. He won't push. But god, he wants to. It's driving him mad.

"How do you want to make it interesting?" Erik asks. He's definitely watching Charles' mouth as he says it, and he hasn't moved back.

"Instead of money, we'll play for something else," Charles says. He holds up the driedel in the small space between them. "It has four sides, so—what, on one you get nothing, on one you get everything, on one you only get a little?"

"Sort of," Erik says. He has to clear his throat—his voice sounds hoarse. "You get half. And on the last side, you have to add to the pot."

"Then," Charles says triumphantly, "how's this—if it lands on 'everything'—"

" _Gimmel_ ," Erik says. He reaches out and points to the proper character.

"—then you get to kiss the other person wherever you'd like."

Charles watches Erik's face for his reaction. Technically, this isn't against the increasingly ignored rules for when it's okay to kiss. Erik doesn't react, which Charles takes as permission to continue.

"If it lands on nothing—"

" _Nun_ ," Erik says. Again, he points to the proper character.

"—then there is no kissing. If it lands on half—"

" _Hey._ "

"—then you can only kiss on the mouth, closed mouth. And if it lands on adding to the pot—"

" _Shin_."

"Then the other person gets to kiss you wherever they'd like," Charles concludes. Erik stares at him for a moment and then licks his lips.

"Fine," he says. Charles can tell he's trying to sound beleaguered, but they're close enough that Charles can see his pupils dilating. "Let's play."

They arrange themselves on the floor, sitting across from each other, and Erik puts a text book between them for the driedel to spin on. He spins first, and the result is tragically _nun_. So is Charles' first spin. And Erik's second.

The universe is clearly punishing Charles.

Charles' second spin lands on _shin_ , however, and he sits back eagerly and waits for Erik to move forward. Erik looks at him, considering, for a few moments, then leans over and kisses Charles on the lips. It may be a traditional move, but it's far from chaste, and Charles feels his ears ringing when Erik pulls away.

"That was a boring choice," Charles says somewhat breathlessly.

"Really?" Erik asks, eyebrows raised. "Then I must have been doing it wrong."

Erik's spin gets him _hey_ , which is disappointing, but better than nothing. There's a certain level of anticipation, even from simply pressing their closed mouths together. Charles sits back, pleased to see Erik's cheeks are growing pink, and spins again. His thoughts and prayers are answered when it sputters out on _gimmel_.

It's Charles' turn to look at Erik consideringly, mostly because he loves seeing Erik out of sorts, twitching and fidgeting under Charles' gaze, even when Charles already knows exactly where he's going to be kissing Erik.

He leans forward and rests his hand on Erik's shoulder, then lowers his mouth to Erik's throat. Charles loves Erik's throat, but more than that, he loves the sounds Erik makes when Charles touches his throat. There's a spot right over Erik's collar bone that can actually make Erik whimper and that's what he's aiming for—covering it with his lips, probing it with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth until Erik is gasping, breathless, and sliding his hands into Charles' hair. Charles pulls away, disappointed, and looks up.

"Don't stop," Erik says, tugging Charles hair back down. His face is pink and his eyes are wide and his mouth is wet and obviously bitten.

"What about the game?" Charles asks. He tries to sound innocent, but he's positive the shit-eating grin on his face says otherwise.

"I told you it was a stupid game," Erik says, and Charles laughs once, sharply pleased, before returning his attention to Erik's neck. That happened much more quickly than he'd predicted.

He reminds himself to send a Hanukkah card to Mrs. Lehnsherr later, and then resumes the task at hand.


	5. first hanukkah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years into the future of [table for three](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2765018), Kitty, Theresa, Erik, and Charles welcome a new family member into their Hanukkah celebration.

The first thing Kitty does when she opens the door is say, "Oh my god, I'm going to steal your baby."

Erik would be more concerned if he wasn't quite positive that if Lorna was anyone else's baby, he'd feel exactly the same way.

Once they settle into the Prydes' apartment, Kitty immediately takes Lorna off of Charles' lap, cradling her close while Theresa runs around putting out food and boxes of menorah candles.

"Katherine, you would be more useful helping me set everything up than holding the baby," she says once she sets down four plates. "She's not going anywhere--she's too little to move on her own."

"Mom, this is the world's cutest baby. I need to get baby time in while I can, before I go back to Cambridge," Kitty says seriously, then leans over and kisses the top of Lorna's head.

"I'll help," Charles offers.

"No," Erik says, "You sit, I'll help."

"I've been sitting for thirteen years, darling," Charles says.

Before Erik can roll his eyes or formulate a response to Charles' worst recurring joke, Theresa shushes them both.

"Stay where you are," she says. "I'm just about done anyway."

"Then what do you need me for?" Kitty asks without looking up, stroking the back of Lorna's tiny, perfect hand.

Theresa sighs, but disappears back into the kitchen. Erik really does mean to get up and help, but now he, too, is entranced by Lorna's tiny hands and tiny fingers and tiny fingernails. He's sure he'll get used to how small and perfect and precious she is one of these days, but it hasn't happened in the past three months.

"Oh, guys, she's so perfect," Kitty coos. "She's even more perfect than the pictures you send. Aren't you, Lorna?"

For her part, Lorna just stares up at them with her big blue eyes, which are already starting to darken. Charles seems positive she's going to have grey or green eyes eventually, but time will tell. Erik, frankly, doesn't care what color her eyes are; he's sure she'll look stunning no matter what.

"She is perfect, isn't she?" Charles says. Charles is beaming, despite his red-rimmed eyes. He's really taken the brunt of late night crying and feeding and changing and it shows. Erik wishes he could do more--he _wants_ to do more, he wants to spend all his time with his family, at least at the moment--but the university has paternity leave and Erik's job...doesn't. It made the decision of who was going to stay home for the first few months and who was going to work much easier, but that's about the only thing that was easy about it.

Theresa finally re-appears, sans apron, with a menorah in each hand.

"Candles first, then dinner while they're burning," she says. That is, in fact, how they always do it, but the first night is always a little bit about remembering how all the traditions work. It's only the third time they're all doing this together, after all, three years since Erik first shared a meal with Kitty and Theresa on a lonely Christmas Eve.

Lorna will grow up with these traditions, though. To Lorna, this will be as easy as breathing, all she'll ever know of Hanukkah. It makes something slick and heavy surface in his throat, in the best possible way.

Kitty passes Lorna back to Charles and Erik waves a hand to summon their bag from near the door. They all spent a moment futzing with menorahs and candles, Erik doing Charles' as well, as Charles' hands are currently occupied. They settle into their chairs and dim the lights.

The words to the prayers are easy enough to murmur along with Kitty and Theresa, and even Charles is starting to pick up on most of them. He doesn't have to concentrate on the words at all--he can concentrate instead on his daughter's face as her eyes track the flickering lights, wide and hypnotized by the flames. She looks as beautiful in candle light as she does every other moment of the day, including at night when she's sleeping in her crib and Erik can't help but stand over her and watch her sleep.

He thinks of his mother. He's been thinking of her a lot these days, in the lead up to Lorna's birth. He wishes she could meet her granddaughter. He wishes she could be here to tell him how to be a father, to assure him he's doing his best. He wishes she could be here to share in these rituals. This is what Lorna will know, will remember. He wishes his mother could be a part of it.

Charles must be in Erik's mind, or maybe his thoughts are just plain on his face. Either way, Charles reaches over and takes Erik's hand in his own, squeezing it tightly as they sit in silence for a moment, watching the light of the candles, spending a few minutes in quiet meditation.

"I'm so happy you guys are here," Kitty says eventually, her voice quiet. "I'm so happy we met you that night, Erik. I'm so happy our family is growing."

Lorna may never know his mother, but she will know these amazing women. He can only hope that she grows up with half of Theresa's kindness and half of Kitty's determination and brilliance.

"I am too," he says. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's just--it's exciting, isn't it?" Kitty says. "Thinking about getting to watch Lorna grow up and be a part of that and--I don't know that I ever said thank you for sitting with us that night, you know? Because you did, and now I get to be a part of this."

"We get to be a part of your life too, Ms. Future Genius Developer," Charles says gently. "I think we all got something out of it." _Something we needed,_ he adds privately. It's true, though. With Erik's mother gone and Charles and his sister's relationship rocky these past few years, family is something they had been lacking the night Erik first met the Prydes. He thinks it's something they were looking for, too.

"I'll drink to that," Theresa says, and raises her wine glass. "To Lorna's first Hanukkah--may we all be here together for many years to come."

They all raise their glasses in toast--even Kitty, a special holiday treat--and Erik feels warm before, even, he's had any of the wine. With the candles, the companionship, and the holiday joy that he can't quite shake it's almost overwhelming.

Almost, but not quite. Mostly he feels comfortable.

_Loved_ , Charles suggests, squeezing his hand again and then passing their daughter over. Erik holds her close and kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of baby powder and No More Tears shampoo.

Loved. He definitely can't argue with that.


	6. long-term plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a year into the future from [Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/591557), Erik sets out to start some new Hanukkah traditions for the first time since his mother died.

"I feel stupid doing this," Erik says. He's fighting at the sticky adhesive circle that's holding the box of menorah candles closed, picking at it with his thumb nail to get it open.

"We don't have to do it," Charles says. "I mean, it was just a suggestion--you said after Sukkot that you thought maybe it was time to revisit and--"

"No, no," Erik says. He glances up from the box at Charles. He's blushing a little. "No, I know. I remember. And I'm glad you remembered too and I'm glad you brought it up, I just--" He turns the box of candles over and over again in his hands. "It's weird, going back to this one. Because it was just--the rest of them were always big family affairs and even after Mom died I still went and saw everyone and sat through services or whatever. But this one--it's such a dumb little holiday, but Mom loved it so much. She always said--"

Erik freezes, his expression suddenly acutely embarrassed, as if he realized mid-word that he was rambling. He's not, though--Erik doesn't talk about his mother as much as Charles would like, mostly because Charles wants to know everything about Erik, constantly, but also because, by all accounts, Edie Lehnsherr was an amazing woman.

"No," Charles says. He reaches out and takes the box of candles from Erik and pulls off the sticky seal. "Go on."

Erik looks at the walls, at the table top, anywhere but at Charles as he goes on.

"She always said it was her favorite," he repeats, "because it was the one that everyone knew about. And it's just because it was so close to Christmas and all that crap, but every year when I was in grade school, she would make a bunch of latkes and bring them in to my class with little dreidels and gelt and she'd read stories about Hanukkah and explain it to everyone and talk about how to celebrate. And she loved that. I was totally embarrassed every year, but she loved it. She used to say she felt closer to everyone by sharing a holiday with them."

He shrugs and looks back at Charles and Charles does his best to smile encouragingly. He doesn't go on, though, just lays his palms flat on the table as Charles starts to put candles in the menorah. That spurs him into action, though.

"No," he says. "Just--the first one and the tall one on the end. You put a new one in each night."

Right. Charles knew that. Maybe he's a little nervous, too.

"Okay," Charles says, and hands the rest of the candles back to Erik, who stares down at the box.

"I miss my mom," Erik finally says. "I just--that's why I've never done it before. I miss her. I miss--all of it. Even her coming to my stupid school classes. But last year, when I used her recipe to make latkes for the potluck...I don't know. It felt...okay. More okay than it's felt in a long time, you know?"

Charles doesn't know. His own father died when he was too young to remember him very well at all.

"I'm glad," Charles says instead. "That night--it's a good memory and I'm glad it brought up good memories for you."

"It's a _great_ memory," Erik says, raising his eyebrows and grinning slyly.

"You think quite a lot of yourself," Charles says, but he's smiling too.

"Anyway," Erik says. "I figure we can...try it. And if it sucks or it's too sad or weird...we don't have to do the other seven nights, right?"

"Of course not," Charles says.

"But maybe...I don't know...it might be nice to have the tradition back," Erik says. He's back to not looking at Charles. "You know...doing it every year with you instead."

They haven't talked overly much about the future. Erik has a pretty decent job and Charles has at least two more years left in his PhD research, so neither of them is going anywhere for the moment, but beyond that--well, they've only know each other for eighteen months and they've only been dating for a year, but Charles would certainly not be opposed to making longterm plans with Erik. Very longterm plans.

But it's crazy to be thinking about that already, isn't it?

"I'd like that," Charles says, and pretends it's not a promise he shouldn't be making yet.

"Good," Erik says. "Me too."

Charles pretends that's not a promise as well as Erik breathes deeply and strikes a match.


End file.
